


Moonlight

by pennedbymazoji



Series: Nightfall [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Female Reader, Gore, Gratuitous Smut, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Incest, Mason Verger is a Rapist, Not Canon Compliant, Out of Character, Pregnant Margot Verger, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Reader-Insert, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24829771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennedbymazoji/pseuds/pennedbymazoji
Summary: It had been a month since Hannibal had found you, blood-soaked and ecstatic, outside of your abuser’s house. Despite the fact that your desire for him was all but world-consuming, you’d panicked the minute his weight fell on top of yours at the hotel. You couldn’t stop the tears that leaked from your eyes or the gasps for air that came from your lungs, even as you tried to assure him that you were fine.“You are most assuredly not fine,” Hannibal had remarked as he moved to your side, gathering you in his arms and pulling you to his chest. “Try and follow my breathing.”----WARNINGS:-referenced non-con-referenced Vergercest-Will is deadSequel to Nightfall
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Reader, Hannibal Lecter/You
Series: Nightfall [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796068
Comments: 6
Kudos: 167





	1. Chapter 1

“Hannibal!”

Hannibal shifted his attention from your slick fingers, his gaze working his way up your body until your eyes met at the sound of the choked-out gasp of his name. His lust-blown pupils met yours, and he let out an answering groan as your head tipped back.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice almost dreamy as his hand worked faster over his cock. “Such a good girl for me.” He turned, pressing his open mouth to your inner thigh. The sight of him on his knees before you was almost too much, and the feeling of his tongue lapping over the indents his teeth left in your skin was enough to send you over the edge, your legs shaking and hips jerking as the pleasure from your orgasm washed over you. Hannibal’s nostrils flared as he took in the scent of the new wetness that seeped from you, and he looked up at you once more with hungry, pleading eyes. “Please.”

Hesitantly, you held your fingers out. He immediately latched onto them with his mouth, his lips pursing and tongue lapping up the taste of you. Hannibal let out a shameless groan as he came, sticky white fluid coating his fingers and falling to the hardwood floor below him. You pulled the now spit-covered digits from his slightly open mouth as he panted, allowing him to rest his head against your knee while you used your free hand to push his hair out of his eyes.

It had been a month since Hannibal had found you, blood-soaked and ecstatic, outside of your abuser’s house. Despite the fact that your desire for him was all but world-consuming, you’d panicked the minute his weight fell on top of yours at the hotel. You couldn’t stop the tears that leaked from your eyes or the gasps for air that came from your lungs, even as you tried to assure him that you were fine.

“You are most assuredly not fine,” Hannibal had remarked as he moved to your side, gathering you in his arms and pulling you to his chest. “Try and follow my breathing.” 

Since then, Hannibal had been slowly pushing your boundaries, testing your reactions to more and more intimate forms of sexual contact. During your first “therapy” session, he explored your body over your clothes, his palms skimming across your curves and his fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of your breasts and thighs. That weekend, when you called to thank him for hosting you for dinner and inform him that you had made it home safe, he stroked himself to completion while you listened to him describe exactly how he would want you to touch him. Your next session was spent on Hannibal’s lap, your thighs bracketing his as he kissed you deeply and ground you against the line of his erection in his suit pants. When the friction became overwhelming and you whimpered, “I’m going to come,” against the skin of his neck, he held you close and whispered praise in your ear, calling you his  _ princess  _ and  _ baby girl.  _ He followed you into the throes of pleasure as you slumped against him, unconcerned about the dark stain on the front of his trousers when you’d caught your breath enough to leave his office. 

Your last two sessions had concluded the same way as this one, small touches and kisses while you watched each other. Dinners at his house were always followed by a phone call, where he would instruct you on how to touch yourself until the line was nothing but a cacophony of pleasured sounds and gasps of his name.

A small nip to your thigh returned you to the present moment. You opened your eyes to find Hannibal staring up at you, a smile on his face as he reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief. 

“Stay with me,” he implored, cleaning you both before tossing the ruined cloth unceremoniously in the trash. He pushed himself to his feet, fixing his clothing until he looked almost as polished as he did before your appointment, save for the ruffled look of his hair and the creases in the knees of his suit. You let out a breath, retrieving your underwear from the table beside you. He pulled you to your feet afterwards, his hands reaching down and smoothing your skirt. “After dinner tonight, stay with me.” 

You froze in place, looking up into his maroon eyes. You had expected the invitation to his dinner table. His second request was new.

“For tonight?” You questioned, finally stepping away to retrieve your coat and bag. 

“For as long as you would like,” Hannibal elaborated as he grabbed his coat from the hook by the door. “I don’t have any patients on Monday due to the holiday.” 

“I don’t work on Monday,” you said cautiously. “Would you like for me to spend the weekend with you?”

“I will not force you,” he replied, moving about the office to turn off the lamps. “But it would please me greatly.”

“I don’t have any of my things with me.”

“We can stop by your apartment to gather anything that you may need, but I must admit that I already have a considerable amount of clothing that I have purchased for you at my home.” 

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” you sighed as you followed him out of the office, waiting until he had locked the door before threading your fingers with his. “Okay. I’ll stay with you.”

The sparkle of victory in Hannibal’s eyes persisted during the drive to your apartment, as he watched from the doorway as you packed the necessary items into a small bag, and on the way to his residence. It only seemed to fade once he had you in his kitchen again, sipping idly from a glass of wine as he busied himself with dinner preparations.

“What are we having tonight?” You questioned, leaning back against the counter. The other half of your question went unsaid.

“Artichoke-stuffed tenderloin,” Hannibal responded, not bothering to look up from the meat in front of him, “courtesy of one David Karlowsky. The wine you are drinking is infused with the essence of Miriam Lass.”

“The FBI agent,” you murmured to yourself, but Hannibal nodded in response anyway. “And Mr. Karlowsky, what were his sins?” Hannibal remained silent as he transferred the dish containing your meal into the oven. He didn’t speak again until he had moved to the sink to begin washing his hands.

“He was the judge who sentenced Will to death.” A small twinge of pain shot through you. In response, you abandoned your glass and pressed yourself to his back, holding him tight.

Hannibal had only begun to tell you of the situation involving Will Graham. You knew that Hannibal had loved Will, but in the end, Will couldn’t be swayed to abandon the shallow life he’d built, and that had broken Hannibal’s heart. As much as you wanted to be jealous, you couldn’t find it within yourself to hold that much resentment for a dead man. 

“I’m sorry,” you spoke into Hannibal’s shoulder, the fabric of his shirt muffling your words. “It must be hard for you.” Hannibal dried his hands and spun in your arms, one hand pressing your head to his chest while the other wrapped around your waist.

“It had to be done,” he replied, pressing his lips to your hair. “Will is gone, and now, you are here with me.”

“I won’t betray you,” you vowed, allowing yourself to rock slightly in his grasp. He followed your movements, pushing away from the sink so that you could sway together to the sound of the classical music playing from the speaker in the other room. 

“I’ll kill you if you do,” Hannibal promised in response. His words didn’t frighten you. You just looked up at him, letting your emotions, all of your care and devotion, show plainly on your face.

“I’ll let you.”

Hannibal blinked in response, his arms tightening around your body.

“I’ll let you,” you repeated, letting your head fall against his chest once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Much to your delight, Hannibal was still in bed when you woke the next morning. 

“I thought you’d be in the kitchen already.” Your voice cracked from disuse, and you settled once more on Hannibal’s chest, breathing in the scent of his skin. 

“I couldn’t bear the thought of waking you.” His accent seemed to be more pronounced in the morning, and you felt a smile spread across your face. “Besides,” he whispered in your ear, “I have a slightly different idea for breakfast.” Hannibal rolled slightly, tipping you back onto the bed. His lips attached to the spot on your neck right below your ear, and you felt a small gasp escape your lips. 

“Hannibal…”

The sound of his name earned you a brief moment of pain as his teeth nipped at your earlobe.

“Not today, princess,” Hannibal hummed, one hand slowly undoing the buttons on the silk pajama top he had given you to sleep in.

A shiver ran up your body as you turned your head to meet his eyes.

“Daddy,” you whispered, eyes wide.

“Good girl,” Hannibal praised, popping the last button open and pushing the sides of the shirt away. He brushed his fingertips against your stomach, the tickling sensation triggering another shudder. “I am going to use my mouth on you, would you like that?” Your eyes slid closed as you pressed your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the pressure building between them.

“Yes, daddy,” you almost whined, your hands clenching at your sides. Hannibal must have noticed, because in the next moment he was pulling your arms up and over your head.

“Keep your arms here.” He instructed, his voice low and rough. “Eyes open.” When you obeyed, Hannibal was hovering over you, a devious grin on his face. He slowly lowered himself down, placing a long lick along your collarbone. He kissed down your chest, placing a small bite every inch, just hard enough to mark your skin with red. Upon reaching your breasts, his tongue laved over one of your nipples before his lips blew cool air on the wetness left. A moan sprung forth from your throat, and you could feel Hannibal smile against your skin. “Let me hear you, princess. I want you loud.”

“Daddy, oh god,” you began, your words suddenly stopping when Hannibal took your other nipple into his mouth. He sucked lightly, circling your areola before flicking the tip against the hardening bud. His strong hands pinned your shoulders down before you even had the chance to jump, keeping you pressed into the sheets below you. He switched sides, lavishing your other breast with just as much attention as you fought to keep still. “Oh…”

There was a small popping sound as Hannibal released your nipple, his tongue instead gathering up the sweat that had begun to bead on your skin.

“So good for me,” he breathed against your skin. His tongue and lips moved lower, exploring your stomach with a mix of kisses, licks, and bites. You were helpless to stop the whimpers and moans created by his attention, gasping whenever he moved lower and took the edge of your underwear between his teeth, pulling back before releasing and allowing it to snap against your skin. “May I?” You squirmed underneath him, struggling to string together enough sounds to make a word.

“Yes,” you finally managed. He raised an eyebrow, and you somehow kept your hands in place despite the overwhelming urge to slap his pretentious face for making you struggle so much. “Yes,  _ daddy _ .”

Hannibal hummed low in his throat, content with your answer. His fingers hooked the waistband of your underwear, sliding the fabric down your legs before flinging it to the floor. A giggle escaped you at his uncharacteristic disregard, but his stern look shut you up almost immediately. You spread your thighs further as he settled between them, inhaling your scent deeply as his eyes fluttered closed. His eyes flew open at the sound of your small whimper.. A small smile played on his lips as his dilated pupils locked on to yours. 

“So beautiful,” Hannibal said, pressing a kiss to your hip bone and nipping gently. “I am going to give you a choice, because you’ve been such a good little girl.” Your legs twitched, and he reached out to rest his hands against your inner thighs. “You can have what you want, or I can keep teasing you. You just have to tell me.”

“Please,” you begged, the words coming forward before you could think twice. “Please, daddy, please just-” Your voice died in your throat at the triumphant look on Hannibal’s features.

“Say it.” A blush rose in your cheeks.

“Please use your mouth on me, daddy.” He clicked his tongue at you disapprovingly, shaking his head.

“Where, princess? You have to tell me  _ exactly  _ what you want.” The look in his eyes said that no amount of whining would convince him to spare you.

“I want you to use your mouth on my pussy, daddy.” Hannibal’s eyes widened with pleasure and lust at the sound of your request, however vulgar. “I want you to taste me, I want your tongue.” A pleasured growl bubbled up from his chest. He suddenly looked absolutely ravenous, ready to consume you whole.

“I will taste you,” Hannibal purred, pushing your legs open as far as they could go and running the tip of his nose along the crease where your thigh met your groin. “I will make you come with just my mouth, and then I will drink down every last drop of you.”

“Yes,” you moaned, your hips moving of their own accord to try and get closer to his mouth. “I want you to.”

That was apparently all of the motivation Hannibal needed. He licked deep between your folds, the flat of his tongue dragging all the way from your entrance up to your clit, as if he was starving for the slick wetness there. With a low growl, he slid his hands under your thighs and grasped your hips, pulling you closer and keeping you from squirming away. He took his time, exploring every inch of you before the tip of his tongue traced your opening, causing your hips to jerk in his grasp.

“Ohhhhhhh,” you whined, pressing the palms of your hands against the headboard to keep you in place. You felt Hannibal chuckle before he began slowly licking you open, his tongue darting in, shallow and quick, to gather the taste of you with a curl and suck it into his mouth. It was absolute torture. Your entire body was flushed with arousal and aching, the feeling of his mouth wonderful but distinctly  _ not enough _ . “daddy, please,” you cried, unable to keep yourself still as you wiggled your hips and threw your legs over his shoulders. “I want your tongue inside me, oh,  _ pleeaaase _ .”

Your sound of your voice had only just died in the air when another growl escaped Hannibal, his lips vibrating against you as he obeyed and his tongue forcefully entered you. He had you so worked up, so unbelievably wet and wanting for him, that your walls opened easily around the intrusion. He fucked his tongue deep into your pussy, only retreating to slurp more of his essence into his throat. Hannibal acted like he was  _ starving _ , licking into you with the enthusiasm of a man who would die without your taste. His own moans, purrs, and growls only acted as further stimulation, and with his tongue so deep inside you and the tip of his nose bumping against your clit, you were embarrassingly close much too soon. 

Hannibal pulled back a mere inch, panting against you. He looked almost frenzied, his eyes eagerly drinking in the rapture on your face.

“Don’t hold back,” he rasped and dug his nails into your skin. “Come on my tongue, princess.”

Without missing a beat, he worked his tongue inside you once more, licking as deep as he could. He shook his head slightly, letting you feel the push of him against your walls and brushing against your clit with the tip of his nose more directly. You were so close, your legs beginning to tremble, when his tongue suddenly retreated and he fixed his lips around your clit, sucking it into the warmth of his mouth.

“Fuck!” You screamed, your thighs clamping down on either side of his face. His hands guided your hips, encouraging you to grind against his face, and with a flick from the tip of his tongue, you unraveled. “Oh, daddy, oh  _ fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ daddy, I’m coming,” you openly sobbed, tears streaming down your face with how intense the pleasure was. The vibration in Hannibal’s mouth from his pleased purr only enhanced the sensations already coursing through you, and you shot up, propped up on one hand as the other grabbed his hair and held him in position. “Just like that, it feels so good, daddy, right there, _ yes _ !”

When you finally collapsed back onto the mattress, sure you had screamed yourself hoarse, Hannibal pulled back. The lower half of his face was slick and flushed, his lips parted and swollen. After taking a few deep breaths, he followed up on his second promise, licking up every last drop of your wetness with a gentle tongue before working you through a second, almost painful orgasm as he circled your overstimulated clit. By the time he crawled back up the bed and held you to him, planting kisses wet with saliva and the taste of you along your neck and cheek, your mind had been reduced to nothing but pleasant static and white noise. You felt limp and boneless, completely spent as Hannibal whispered unintelligible words to you.

“You did such a good job for me, little one,” Hannibal said, sounding more like a worshiper praying to a god than a man speaking to his partner while he pet your hair. “You were incredible.”

“You’re incredible,” you mumbled, slowly stretching as feeling returned to your limbs. “I would offer to return the favor, but I’m afraid that you broke me.” The sound of his genuine laugh made your heart flutter and your lips stretch into a grin.

“That won’t be necessary. You quite effectively overwhelmed me, reverting me to a teenage boy, thrusting against the mattress for relief.” He sounded genuinely amused; he didn’t even admonish you when you snorted in laughter.

“That is now the second time you’ve come in your pants with me,” you teased. “You  _ are _ a teenager. Perhaps we need to work on your stamina before I let you fuck me.”

With a frankly awe-inspiring ease, Hannibal flipped you again, settling his heavy weight on top of your body and pinning your wrists to the mattress. The playful look that graced his features was offset by the inferno blazing behind his irises.

“I assure you that there are no issues with my stamina. I am very much in control.” His breath fanned across your face from how close he was, your noses almost touching. “When I take you, you will be begging for mercy before I am finished,” he vowed, punctuating his statement with a roll of his hips against yours. “Your voice will be hoarse from sobbing and screaming, you will be in such exquisite pleasure that you will forget everything but my name and the feeling of me inside of you, and you will be beautifully taken apart by my hands many times before I will even need to think about leaving warmth of your body.” 

Just as quickly as he had pinned you, Hannibal released your wrists and left you on the bed, dazed and shuddering at his words.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the day was spent exploring Hannibal’s house, your body clothed in a comfortable dress that Hannibal had presented you with after he’d scrubbed the both of you clean in the shower. Lounging on the couch of his study, he fed you fresh fruit from his fridge and explained the significance of the artwork and sculptures while you sat between his legs.

You prowled around the upstairs alone while Hannibal returned a phone call from Jack Crawford. His room was already familiar to you, and he was far too observant to not notice if you snooped there, so you spent your time examining the two guest rooms. The first was fairly plain, decorated in shades of blue and off-white. There was barely any furniture, and the drawers of the dresser were empty except for a few pairs of extra sheets. There wasn’t any sign of Hannibal’s typical flair for the extravagant; the room looked almost painfully normal. The second of the extra bedrooms was much more to your liking. The walls were painted an emerald green, and the floor was a rich, dark hardwood. Against the wall was a canopy bed with the heavy wooden frame stained the same color as the floor and translucent black curtains tied back around the posts. The bed was made with satin black sheets that were so dark they seemed to completely absorb the light from the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The dressers here were filled with a variety of clothes, from underwear to pajamas and workout gear. A large desk occupied the corner by the window, an Apple laptop resting on the surface along with a variety of file folders. You itched to go through the papers, but talked yourself out of it by pointing out the sensitive, private nature of psychiatry. Hannibal must have occasionally worked from this room rather than his study, you thought, as the window here faced his green backyard rather than the paved street. To distract yourself, you threw open the doors to the closet. It was similarly full of clothes, packed with a variety of casual and cocktail dresses, evening gowns, and feminine suits, all in your size. You rolled your eyes before catching the sound of Hannibal calling your name from the stairs. You carefully closed the closet and guest room door, trying to leave as little evidence as possible of your presence before you went to join him in the kitchen.

“Has your curiosity been sated now that you have seen most of the rooms in my home?” He teased as you entered the room, turning from a variety of pots bubbling on the stove to pour you a glass of wine. You took it graciously before hopping up and sitting on the counter of his kitchen island. He narrowed his eyes, his frustration clear at the blatant rudeness you had exhibited. Undisturbed, you sipped your wine and fixed him with a challenging gaze. Eventually, he gave a defeated sigh, pecking your cheek and returning to the stove.

“Mostly,” you answered, swirling the wine around the walls of the glass. “There is still one area that I have yet to explore.” A silent chuckle shook Hannibal’s body when he glanced back to see your eyes fixated on the door to the pantry.

“Soon, beloved.” You raised an eyebrow, mentally taking note of the new pet name. “Are you amenable to having guests over for dinner?” Taking another sip of your wine, you considered your answer before responding. 

“I’m open to the idea,” you started, swinging your legs slightly as they hung over the edge of the counter. “May I ask who would be joining us?” Hannibal placed a lid on one of the pots before wiping his hands on a nearby towel and turning to you with a calculated, calm expression.

“Jack Crawford and my colleague, Bedelia.” You stilled in surprise. “If you are not agreeable to the idea, I can easily inform them that we will need to reschedule.”

“No, I’m fine with it.” You paused once more, considering your words carefully. Hannibal continued to observe you with what seemed to be detached interest, obfuscating the fact that he was obviously very keenly interested in your reaction. “You have invited an FBI agent and your psychiatrist to your table, while I am here with you. Is this your version of introducing me to your colleagues?”

“Yes.” You frowned; something here was  _ wrong _ .

“No.” The cogs in your brain were starting to turn. “The gathering wouldn’t be this intimate. You wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity to dress me up in a lavish gown and reveal me as your companion during one of your dinner parties.” Hannibal’s eyes gleamed with pleasure at how easily you saw through his lie. You gave him a small pout, hoping that it would work in your favor. If he wanted to hide his plan from you, you could hide one from him. “How much of the honorable judge Karlowsky do you have left?”

“Quite a bit. You could say that he vanished without a trace.” Hopping off the counter, you pressed a chaste kiss to Hannibal’s lips while sliding your hand into his front pocket and retrieving his cell phone.

“You should prepare quite the spread,” you remarked, holding the phone out for Hannibal to unlock before you left to head for the study. “I’d expect a few more guests.”

Hannibal normally wouldn’t be so rude as to host a dinner party without prior notice, but thankfully, no one seemed to notice. You’d gone through Hannibal’s phone, sending off a few texts to some of the names that you remembered Hannibal mentioning. You settled on sending additional invites to Alana Bloom, Frederick Chilton, and Mason and Margot Verger. Writing as though you were Hannibal, you invited them to dinner that night, explaining that the mood to entertain had suddenly struck. Doctor Chilton had replied quite quickly, confirming that he would be able to attend and asking if he could bring a guest, one Freddie Lounds, a vegetarian. You recognized the name almost immediately, letting out a short huff of laughter while you agreed to his request. Alana and the Vergers were slower to reply, but they both confirmed that they would be able to attend.

“How many are we expecting?” Hannibal questioned when you returned to the kitchen, sliding up behind him and returning his phone. You ran your hands appreciatively over his back, dropping them lower at the end to squeeze his ass. For someone who despised rudeness, he certainly put up with a lot coming from you.

“Five more,” you said, appreciating the way he tensed under your hands. “Jack, Bedelia, Doctor Alana Bloom, the Verger siblings, and Doctor Frederick Chilton accompanied by Freddie Lounds.”

“An unconventional group, indeed,” Hannibal mused. “Frederick and Miss Lounds both require meatless dishes.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” you purred, moving your hands to rub against the front of his thighs. “Is there anything at risk of burning?”

“Not for the next few minutes,” Hannibal breathed, spinning to look at you. You looked up at him from underneath your eyelashes, biting your lip and dropping to your knees in front of him. You quickly began working his belt open and easing his zipper down.

“That’s all I need.”

“No,” Hannibal suddenly grabbed your arms and pulled you up. You growled in frustration, thrashing in his hold, but he held you still. “Not like this. Go wait in the study.” He pushed you away, giving you a pointed look when you opened your mouth to retort. Seething, you obeyed, shooting a glance back at him to see him fiddling with the dials on the stove and oven before making his way over to the sink.

Once you entered the study, you huffed and began sifting through the drawers of his desk, if only to further annoy him in the future. You weren’t counting on Hannibal thwarting your plans to christen his kitchen, but you couldn’t necessarily say that you were surprised. He’d probably consider it disrespectful to the food. Still fuming, you threw yourself onto the couch, playing with the hem of your dress while Hannibal’s footsteps stalked closer.

“We can’t get the kitchen dirty, princess,” he chastised, slowly moving across the room to where you were sitting. He’d removed the belt from his pants, instead holding it loosely in one hand along with a small bottle. You quickly noticed that he had also removed his shoes when his bare foot nudged yours on the floor. “Stand up.”

You followed his instruction, standing while he arranged himself on the middle of the couch, reclining against the back and undoing the buttons of his shirt. He hummed in delight at the way your eyes eagerly followed his movements, drinking in every inch of flesh that was revealed. He shrugged out of the garment, carefully folding it and placing it to the side. Tilting his hips up, he pushed his slacks and underwear down his legs, which were also folded and placed on the pile of his garments. You bit your lip, overwhelmed at the sight of seeing him completely bare, legs slightly open. You took a step forward automatically, moving to drop to your knees when he held up a hand to stop you.

“Underwear, please.” He held up his hand, waiting. Hurriedly, you shimmied out of your panties before handing them over. His eyes locked on to yours, Hannibal lifted them to his nose, sniffing loudly and letting out a shameless moan. He placed them on the growing pile of clothes before grinning at you and reaching for the bottle. He poured a generous amount of lube onto his erection, stroking himself for a few seconds to spread it around. Finally, he beckoned you forward. “As much as I would love to see you on your knees for me, I find myself craving something more intimate.”

With his guidance, you crawled onto his lap, sitting astride him as you had in his office some weeks before. He bunched your dress up around your waist, guiding you until his length was pressed between his stomach and your vulva. You let out a barely-audible whine, shifting your hips up and reaching down to guide him inside of you when he grabbed your hands and pulled them behind your back. He clicked his tongue at you disapprovingly.

“So greedy,” Hannibal chastised, holding them in place and grabbing his loose belt. He used it to efficiently bind your wrists, robbing you of the chance to touch him or control the encounter. He kissed you hard, his tongue probing at the seam of your lips while his hands tightened the restraint and tested that you couldn’t easily free yourself. You submissively parted your lips for him, letting the tension melt away from your body as he greedily licked into your mouth, using his tongue to explore every inch that he could reach. He finally drew back, open-mouthed and panting slightly, to cup your hips again and guide you to rub yourself against him. “Just like before,” he instructed, moving one hand to press on your lower back until you leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder and face buried in his neck. “Just like in my office, little one.”

“Ha-  _ daddy, _ ” you moaned, leaving wet, messy kisses along his shoulder and up his neck. Within seconds, he could leave you a trembling mess in his arms, driven insane by the sight, smell, and touch of him. In response, he spread his legs wider and tilted his hips so that the head of his cock rubbed against your clit with every movement. You bit down, using his flesh to muffle your sob. The hand on your back glided up your skin to tangle in your hair while the hand on your hip continued to control your movements. When your teeth released him, he turned his head to kiss your temple, his breathing interrupted by small gasps.

“Good girl,” Hannibal whispered in your ear, pressing you impossibly closer. You could only cry out in response, your thighs tightening on the outside of his when he increased the pace, your own wetness further contributing to the slick slide of his shaft through your folds. With a low groan, Hannibal tilted his head to the side and allowed you further access to his neck while his own hips began to lazily thrust upwards. “So beautiful, princess,” he continued, his eyes angled downwards at the place where your bodies met. His fingers finally released your hip, allowing you to grind down against him harder while he cradled you close. “You look so gorgeous, riding me like this.”

“W-want you inside of me daddy, please,” you begged, tears of sheer  _ need _ spilling from your eyes. “I-I can’t take it.”

“Soon, baby girl,” Hannibal soothed you, moaning when you bit down once more in frustration. “I know. Right now, I need you to come for me. Can you do that for me, princess?” You frantically nodded, adjusting the angle for more direct friction against your throbbing clit while moans wracked your body.

“I’m gonna come, daddy,” you admitted after a minute had passed, silent except for his gasps and the wet sound from between your legs. You felt as if you were strung taught, your body waiting for the string of pleasure to snap. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt your thighs begin to tremble.

“Yes,” Hannibal replied, his voice breathy and far-away sounding as he squeezed your ass in his hands, encouraging you to keep rocking against him. “Breathe, little one, it will make it better.” His teeth nipped at your ear, and he waited until he heard the sound of your breath escaping before he continued. “That’s it. I promise, I cannot wait to be inside of you either.” He increased the force and urgency of the movement of his hips, the glide of every inch of his cock against your clitoris impossibly wet and perfect. 

“ _ Ooooohhh _ ,” you wailed, your nails digging into your palms as you struggled against your binds, desperate to touch him. You were openly sobbing at that point, feeling pathetic at just how effectively he could break you down and overwhelmed with just how much you wanted it. “I’m so close.”

“That’s my little girl,” Hannibal cooed before lowering his pitch and growling when you cried out again. “I know,  _ mylimoji _ , but if you want daddy to fuck you before the weekend is over, you have to come.” Your eyes rolled back at the sound of his deep, accented voice forming such obscene words. “ _ Now _ , princess. _ ”  _

Your voice raised to a scream as you came at his command, shuddering against him. Hannibal followed almost immediately, driven over the edge by the sight and feel of you. He began babbling softly in a foreign language as his hips stalled and his arms squeezed you tight, his release leaking from between your lips and onto his stomach.

“Hannibal, I-” you mouthed against his skin, listening to the melodic sound of his words as he continued speaking and released your wrists from the belt. Now free, you pushed away and stood on wobbly legs, gathering your underwear and fixing your dress. Hannibal followed your lead after a second, cleaning himself as best he could with the tissues on the side table and redressing. You observed each other for a moment once you were finished, his hair significantly disheveled and bite marks marring his throat, while you stood with the bottom of your dress crumpled, your makeup smeared, and your hair frizzy and sticking to your face.

“You are perfect,” Hannibal breathed, reaching out to cup your face and kiss you softly. He pressed his forehead against yours, letting you breathe together for another second, before he stepped away and grabbed your hand. “Let me show you the pantry, beloved. We need to finish dinner.”


	4. Chapter 4

After a thorough tour of Hannibal’s pantry and basement, you assisted him with dinner preparations as much as you could. He was still hesitant to let you contribute anything more than occasionally stirring something or chopping vegetables. Eventually, you were sent to go set the table and pick a wine for the night. You lightly squeezed his arm before gathering the wine glasses and flatware he laid out and retreating to the dining room.

When you were satisfied with the arrangement of the table, you peeked into the kitchen to make sure that Hannibal was sufficiently distracted. He seemed engrossed with whatever was in his skillet, so you quietly snuck into his study to find the rohypnol tablets you had seen in his desk. Upon retrieving them, you returned to the dining room, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief when you realized that it remained undisturbed. You picked two bottles of wine from the rack, a red and a sweet white that you knew Hannibal had  _ altered  _ to fit his tastes, and uncorked them. You quickly dropped a few of the tablets into the white, watching to ensure that they fully dissolved. You had just managed to place the wines into the ice bucket and hide the pill bottle in a drawer before Hannibal came into the room and offered you his hand. 

“We have a small reprieve,” he explained as he led you upstairs and ushered you into the bathroom. “It is in our best interest to freshen up before our guests arrive.” You slowly stripped each other between kisses, and Hannibal reverently washed your body as you stood under the stream of water.

He finally allowed you to sink to your knees before him while he washed his hair, harshly fucking your mouth until he spilled down your throat.

You were giddy with happiness after your shower, bouncing on the balls of your feet and grinning in the mirror as you fixed your hair and makeup. After Hannibal gelled his hair into place and dressed in a tailored black suit and shirt that he paired with a red tie, he disappeared from the room. He returned only a minute later, carrying a red dress that matched him perfectly. The hem reached mid-thigh, and sleeves fell off your shoulders. The fabric from the sleeves then crossed in front of your chest, tastefully accentuating your cleavage. You stared, wide-eyed, in the mirror, astounded by your appearance. Hannibal squeezed your bare shoulders once he finished zipping up the back, meeting your eyes in the reflection and tilting his head so that you could see the bruises that he hadn’t bothered to cover. Your heart fluttered, and you had barely managed to slide your feet into your strappy heels before the doorbell rang downstairs.

Margot and Mason Verger were the first guests to arrive. You immediately disliked Mason, grimacing at the sexualized comments he made about your appearance before he began following Hannibal around the kitchen, badgering him with intrusive questions about how he knew you and if you were available. Margot, however, seemed more timid, and you tried to placate her with slow words and a smile.

“Can I get you a glass of wine?” You offered, leading her to the dining room. She took her chair before daring to give you a small smile as she shook her head. 

“No, thank you. I’m, uh,” she fumbled over her words, heat rising in her cheeks. “I’m expecting.”

“Oh, congratulations!” You exclaimed, looking at her more closely. The flowy nature of her dress hid it well. “May I ask who the father is?” Margot responded in a whisper, visibly uncomfortable, and you stilled as your vision flashed red.

_ Mason. _

“Water, then?” You questioned, composing yourself. Margot gave a small nod, and you barely had a chance to get her a glass and give her a sympathetic look before Mason joined you as Hannibal abandoned him to answer the door.

Alana arrived next, taking her seat on the other side of Margot. The two seemed to hit it off immediately, despite Mason’s scowl and his arm wrapped possessively around Margot’s shoulders. Bedelia was then followed by Frederick Chilton and Freddie Lounds. Bedelia was placed to the right of Alana and to the left of the head chair. Frederick and Freddie were sat on your side of the table, across from Mason and Margot. Jack arrived last, taking his seat across from Alana while you poured everyone a glass of red wine before sitting opposite Bedelia.

Frederick and Freddie controlled most of the conversation as Hannibal began serving the first course, bringing in their meatless dishes first. They both seemed to be highly self-obsessed, blabbing about the book they were collaborating on.

“Will Graham was a textbook sociopath,” Frederick said, with the air of someone making a grand announcement. He seemed oblivious to the discomfort painted on Alana’s face or the tenseness of Jack’s shoulders. Hannibal, too, seemed frustrated, a small crease present in his brow. They finally fell silent when he joined the table.

“Thank you for joining me tonight,” Hannibal began, toasting your guests. “I believe introductions are in order. To my left is Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier, followed by Dr. Alana Bloom, two of my esteemed colleagues. Continuing around the table, there is Margot and Mason Verger of the Verger meat-packing fortune, Freddie Lounds of TattleCrime, Dr. Frederick Chilton of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and Jack Crawford of the FBI.”

Silence fell throughout the group as they expectantly looked between you and Hannibal. He just granted them an amused smile.

“Who is the lovely lady to my left?” Jack spoke first, turning and offering you his hand to shake. You grinned sheepishly and introduced yourself, blocking out the murmurs from the rest of the guests. “And what is your relation to Dr. Lecter?”

“She is my lovely partner.” Hannibal answered before you had the chance to, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles in full view of the table. Jack smiled approvingly, but you couldn’t miss the faint resentment in the expressions of Alana and Bedelia. Hannibal was  _ incredibly _ desirable; you had assumed that there would be some level of jealousy. Chilton seemed to be the least affected, focusing on his food while Freddie seemed undecided as to whether or not this revelation was worth her attention.

After your introduction, the conversation thankfully took a turn away from you. Mason fielded a variety of questions about the Verger business and fortune, bragging openly about Margot’s pregnancy. Hannibal kept his hand on your knee under the table, trying to silently placate you. He could see how much Mason was bothering you, but you couldn’t lash out while you were surrounded by so many people. Mason finally died down, and Hannibal gave your knee a quick squeeze before he left to gather the second course.

“So,” Bedelia began, fixing her gaze on you. “How did you meet Hannibal?” 

“Pure chance,” you lied easily, leaning back and meeting her stare with equal intensity. “We met at the symphony.”

“You don’t seem like the type to attend the symphony.” You raised your eyebrow at the challenge.

“That’s true,” you conceded, taking care not to look away or blink. “I was on a rather atrocious double-date with one of my friends. My date got rather handsy and possessive toward the end of the night. Hannibal noticed and swooped in to save me.” You shot him a small smile as he rejoined the group in the dining room to hand out the second course. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Yes,” Hannibal replied, bowing his head toward you when he finished setting plates in front of you and the three people to your right. “I have been transfixed by you ever since.” A blush crept up your cheeks.

“You began dating after the symphony?” Alana asked, shooting a sideways glance at Bedelia, who still looked skeptical.

“No,” you laughed, waving your hand. “He says that he was transfixed, but he wasn’t very open about it. I was convinced that we had simply gone our separate ways. I didn’t see Hannibal for almost a month, much to my chagrin.”

“I inquired after her at the next symphony I attended, but no one seemed to know her,” Hannibal continued, seamlessly taking over the story, as if you had practiced it before. “Fate deigned to intervene, and our paths crossed once more during a sustainability lecture held at the National Aquarium.” 

“He was much more forward the second time,” you interjected, tilting your head to allow Hannibal to peck your cheek before he sat down.

The conversation during the second course focused around psychology, something that it seemed everyone at the table had at least a slight amount of interest in. The doctors at the table discussed a recent article that a colleague had published, Mason attempted and failed to apply its findings to the behavior of pigs, and Jack and Freddie seemed intrigued by how its findings regarding antisocial personality disorder could apply to the still-unsolved Chesapeake Ripper case. He hid it well, but you could tell that Hannibal was amused.

Margot left halfway through, citing sickness associated with her pregnancy. The chauffeur for the Vergers agreed to take her home and would await a call from Mason to return for him. This worked out nicely in your favor; you found that you liked Margot well enough and didn’t want her to be around for what you had in store.

Everyone’s wine glasses were swapped as Hannibal finished dessert, and you poured each guest a healthy amount of your drugged white wine. You served yourself last, making sure to pour the last of the wine into Hannibal’s glass and opening a second, untampered bottle to serve yourself from. Sanguinaccio dolce was served, and you observed the table for signs of the sedative at work. The concentration was high enough that your guests should begin to feel the effects at roughly the same time. You excused yourself from the table for a second, heading back to Hannibal’s study and retrieving one of his scalpels. The conversation at the dinner table was slowly slurring and quieting by the time you made your way to the kitchen to acquire a butcher’s knife.

Everyone was slumped at their seats when you came back to the dining room, their heads either bowed or resting on the table. You hummed in delight, circling the table like a vulture, selecting your first victim.

Mason would die last, as he was the abuser of the group and the one you wanted to feel the most pain. The rest of the guests were simply props for your design, so you didn’t mind killing them quickly. However, it would be cleaner to arrange them first.

Thankful for the muscle your self-defense classes had built, you pulled Hannibal’s chair away from the table, swapping him with Jack, so that the head of the BSU would also be the head of the table. Chilton was moved to your spot, with Freddie beside him. Alana was switched with Bedelia. You cleared the dishes from the empty spots as well as Mason’s, depositing them in the sink. You pushed Hannibal back to the table, placing him opposite Jack, at the other end of the table. He’d have a front-row seat when he woke up. 

You managed to hoist Mason onto the table, due to him being somewhat scrawny. You arranged him in the middle, between all of the guests. You took a break to sip your wine before moving to stand behind Freddie. Her throat was slit first, then Chilton’s, Alana’s, and Bedelia’s. They gurgled quietly as their blood spilled from the gashes in their necks, down the front of their bodies, and onto the floor below. Jack was last, his gun and badge fished from his pockets and placed next to him on the table.

With all but Mason taken care of, you discarded your heels and washed your hands. Your position behind the victims had allowed your dress to remain clean. After heading upstairs, you quickly packed as many clothes as you could fit for both you and Hannibal into the plain black luggage set that you found within his closet. You laid a plain pair of slacks and a beige sweater out on the bed for him to change into, along with a long-sleeve white dress for you to wear. You quickly texted Abigail, who you had met during your first dinner at Hannibal’s house, to pack a bag and be prepared to leave. She attempted to call you a second later, but you simply let your phone continue to ring in the bedroom, descending the stairs to set the final part of your scene.

You abandoned the scalpel for the butcher's knife. Mason didn’t deserve to bleed out slowly. Instead, you cut down his chest and pried his ribs open so that you could access his organs. The kidneys went to Chilton’s plate, due to his missing one. The liver was served to Bedelia, due to the wine habit Hannibal had informed you of. Alana got the intestines, to mock her lack of distrust for Hannibal. The stomach was placed in front of Jack, one final clue as to the fate of Hannibal’s surgical trophies. Mason’s lungs, still in use, were ripped out and deposited in front of Freddie.

By the time you had finished with the guests, you could hear Hannibal beginning to stir behind you. You quickly cut out the heart, carrying it into the kitchen where you placed it on a clean plate. A quick intake of breath told you that Hannibal was aware enough to process the scene you had left for him. Knowing that movement would still be difficult, you waited a minute before slowly striding back into the dining room and placing the plated heart in front of Hannibal. You rested your hip on the table as he looked up at you with an indecipherable expression.

The heart was brought to his lips. After a moment of consideration, he bit into it, tearing at the muscle with his teeth. You smiled, raising the still-warm flesh to your own mouth. Blood from the chambers dribbled down your chin, a movement that Hannibal tracked greedily with his eyes. Chewing carefully, you deposited the heart back onto the plate.

With a feral snarl, Hannibal launched himself out of his chair. He stumbled but still managed to grab onto your body, spinning you around and trapping you against the table.

“What do we have here, princess?” He growled in your ear, his hips pressed tight against you as he pushed your shoulders down, bending you over until the side of your face was pressed against the wood, your eyes locked on the tableau you had created.

“A gift, daddy,” you breathed, reaching above you to wrap your fingers around the other end of the table.

“And you did not think to consult with me first?” You wiggled against him, earning you the sharp sting of pain as Hannibal brought his hand down on your ass, spanking you hard. Involuntarily, you yelped, and he spanked you again. “Answer me.”

“It w-would have ruined the surprise,” you finally responded, pleased when he rucked your dress around your waist and tore your thong from your body, discarding the tattered fabric on the floor.

“I cannot decide if I should punish or reward you,” he hissed, leaning down to press the sharp edge of his teeth to the back of your neck. You picked up the sound of his belt buckle being undone and bit your lip, trying to press back into him. “Perhaps both are in order.”

“Anything you want daddy,  _ anything _ .”

“Good girl,” Hannibal praised, the sound of fabric hitting the floor behind his voice. Obediently, you opened your legs for him, letting out a whine when you felt his cock teasing your opening. “Tell me what you want.”

“Daddy,” you panted, tilting your hips up in an effort to entice him. “I want you inside of me, pretty please, daddy. Fuck me.”

Spurred on by your begging, Hannibal pressed forward in one slow, smooth thrust as his tongue darted out to lap at some of the blood that was beginning to congeal on your neck. Crying out, you released the edge of the table and reached back to grab at his shirt when he was fully seated inside of you. A low groan rumbled in Hannibal’s chest as he paused for a second, straightening himself and leaning back out of your grasp. He reached down and pulled one of your legs up, moving it to rest on top of the table before he pulled out, letting the head catch on your entrance before he slammed back in.

“Let daddy use your pretty little cunt, princess,” Hannibal gasped, one hand pressing on your lower back and the other holding you by the neck. “Lay there and take it.”

“ _ Yes _ ,” you moaned, your fingernails scratching at the tabletop. “You feel so good, daddy.” The pace of his thrusts increased incrementally as his hips snapped harder against yours.

“You open up so well for me, baby girl,” he said, removing his hand from your back to grasp your hip and pull you back onto his length, moving your body in time with him. You pushed yourself up slightly, angling yourself so that he drove against your sweet spot with each thrust and you could reach down to feel where he was stretching you.

"I do?" You questioned in between soft, pleased sounds. The wood of his table was cool against your overheated skin.

"My little girl," Hannibal growled, pushing down harder on your neck. You silently wished that it would leave a bruise. "So wet and wanting for me. Do you like it when daddy fucks you?" You spread your legs slightly further apart, letting out a strangled scream as your pleasure spiked.

“Right there, daddy, fuck!” Hannibal let out a sound akin to a purr, fucking into you hard and deep as you shouted and pounded your fist on the table. You began openly babbling, desperate for something that you couldn’t quite name. “Oh, please fuck me daddy, want you to use me, make me yours. ‘M so wet for you, daddy, need you to fill me up.” Something in Hannibal broke at your words. He snarled before covering his body with yours, his teeth sinking piercing your shoulder as his movements became borderline painful. “That’s it, daddy,” you sighed, satisfied as you started to circle your clit. “Make your little girl come on your cock.”

You could feel small droplets of water falling to your shoulder as Hannibal let go of your neck to wrap his arm and your abdomen, his palm pressing up on your lower stomach. Lowly shushing him, you reached back to grab at his hair.

“I c-can’t hold on.” Hannibal’s voice sounded completely  _ wrecked.  _ He'd promised much more for your first time together like this, but you couldn't fault him. It was too overwhelming, too perfect, that neither of you could last for much longer.

“Then don’t,” you panted, inordinately delighted at the fact that you weren’t the one crying this time. Instead, you felt grounded, able to focus on and relish how deep you could feel him, how easily you stretched to accommodate his girth. The fire of your arousal, burning in your core, was threatening to overtake you when you felt Hannibal’s rhythm begin to stutter. He let out a choked moan as he came, the warmth of his release coating your walls pushing you over the edge as well. You cried out as you tugged more firmly at his light-brown strands, a mixture of curses and his name. As you both came down, the air was filled with nothing but the sounds of your breath and Hannibal’s occasional sniffles.

“Are you alright, baby?” You questioned when he finally pulled away from you, allowing you to stretch and push up from the table. Hannibal’s eyes were red and tears tracked down his cheeks as you turned around, quickly wrapping him in a tight hold. He hugged you back, resting his cheek on the top of your head.

“I love you,” Hannibal whispered, his whole body trembling in your grasp. You pulled away to kiss him softly, keeping the rest of his body pressed to yours.

“I love you too,” you replied, brushing his now-loose hair away from his forehead. “I did this for you.”

“It’s beautiful.” You grinned, giving him one final kiss before you stepped away.

“I have a change of clothes for us upstairs. We should leave soon.”


	5. Chapter 5

Within four hours, you were in the air, curled up together in first-class seats while Abigail sat across from you, staring out the window with her headphones in.

“Mmmm,” you moaned lightly, sipping from your champagne and watching out the window as the lights from the cities below you gave way to the darkness of the sea. Hannibal was next to, flipping through a book with mild interest, pausing every few paragraphs to glance at you and Abigail. “Will we stay in Paris?”

“No,” Hannibal said lightly, closing the book to focus his attention wholly on you. “I was thinking we could visit France before making our way to Italy. I would like to show you and Abigail Florence. It is where I became a man.”

“I’d like that.” You smiled, taking one of his hands. “Will you show me Lithuania?” Hannibal stiffened next to you, and Abigail thankfully provided a distraction.

“I’d like to see Austria,” she interjected, Hannibal’s posture relaxing as he turned to her. “Switzerland, too.”

“If you do have a connection to Florence, it would be inadvisable to remain there long-term.” You squeezed Hannibal’s hand, taking another sip of your champagne. “If we’re to stay in Europe, it would be advisable to settle in a spot that has no connection to our lives.”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal mused, bringing the back of your hand up to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “I could be persuaded to visit Austria and Switzerland, if you will attend the opera, Abigail.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, sinking back into her chair. “Maybe.” She turned the music up on her phone and looked back out the window.

“We could settle outside of Europe,” you suggested, resting your head on Hannibal’s shoulder. “Perhaps somewhere warm without an extradition agreement.”

“Whatever would please you, beloved,” Hannibal sighed, kissing the top of your head.

“You never told me  _ why  _ you were inviting Bedelia and Jack in the first place,” you began, letting out a pleased hum when Hannibal wrapped his arm around your shoulders and moved your head to his chest. “A psychiatrist and an FBI agent don’t make much sense together.”

“They were acquainted.” Hannibal sounded amused, and you frowned, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth before your brain finished piecing together the puzzle. You let out a small  _ oh  _ when his plan came into focus.

“You wicked man,” you accused, and Hannibal’s arm squeezed you tighter to his side in response. “I should have known from the minute you asked me to stay over. I thought I was one step ahead of you.”

“Your inclusion of the others did surprise me,” he admitted. “Less loose ends to tie up at a later date.”

“You did procure these tickets almost too easily.” The lights in the cabin lowered, preparing the passengers to sleep through the night. You let your eyes slip closed too, listening to Hannibal’s steady heartbeat. “You could have just told me.” Hannibal’s body relaxed into yours after he stifled a chuckle.

“Where would the fun be in that?” He questioned, inhaling the scent of shampoo from your hair, still damp from the shower you had taken to wash the blood off. “I wanted you to show me your design.” You subtly flinched at the phrasing.

“Do you still love him?”

“No,” Hannibal replied. “Not anymore.”


End file.
